


Wasteland Monarchy

by killmycreed



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Poor Eggsy, This will hurt, all the pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killmycreed/pseuds/killmycreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had promised him a kingdom of happiness. A monarchy of their own. Their life. Their rules. What he got instead was a wasteland. Empty and messed up. The bomb had been dropped. And he had to live with the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasteland Monarchy

Liar. Liar, liar, liar!

 

The only word in his head. Sending his brain into overdrive.

Eyes wide open, wet with unshed tears. Gaze locked at the computer screen in front of him. Not believing what he was seeing.

There was an ear-splitting scream and it took him a few moments to realize that he was hearing his own voice. Screaming until his throat was raw and so sore that no other sound could leave it.

It was not like he needed his voice in the next few hours. There was no one he could talk to. He was utterly alone. In a house that wasn’t even his property.

 

A strangled laugh left his mouth, turned soon into a hysterical fit of laughter. Maybe he was going crazy. Because if you thought rationally about it there was nothing funny about his situation. At all. And yet he couldn’t stop laughing. 

For a brief moment he thought about what would happen if someone would see him like that. Kneeling on the living room carpet laughing like a maniac. Well probably they would call the police and we would end up in an asylum or wherever they took people who went that crazy.

 

Perhaps he was really insane. That was the only logical explanation for the way he was acting. Who else could witness the same things he saw and laugh about it? Or was it really a laugh? He couldn’t tell. And if he was laughing then why were his cheeks wet? Was he… yes he was crying, wasn’t he? Or at least he thought so? This was getting really confusing.

 

Trembling fingers raised to his face, wiped at the wetness they found there. Tears. Yes he was crying. There was no sense in denying it. And if he listend closely his laughter probably also sounded more like sobbing. Not that it helped is situation but it was a far more appropriate reaction. Though he did not know if that fact made him really feel better about it.

 

Still sobbing he hugged his knees to his chest, buried his face into them. He was overwhelmed. Didn’t really know what to feel. Pain? No. Anguish? Loneliness? Fear? Probably all of them. God he was a mess. An ugly sobbing mess. Face red and blotched by tears. Luckily no one had to see him like that. Oh what an embarrassment that would make. Though he was good at that - being an embarrassment. After all he’s had his whole life to practice it. At least something he didn’t utterly fail. Unless everything else in life.

 

But there was also something else. Buried deep inside his chest. Always locked away and still there. Never going away. Growing and growing with each passing year. Anger. Deep inside him. Oh yes he was angry, so angry it was getting very difficult for him to contain it. The anger was there. Lingering like a shadow behind an open door. Waiting to come in and destroy everything he has left. 

 

Liars. All of them.

 

He was sick of people lying to him. Always. They promised him stuff and in the end everyone would break his promise to him. That was his life. Who was he? A fucking failure everyone could lie to.

 

_Yes, daddy is just going on a work trip. He’ll be home in a few days_. Yeah. Just that he came home in a coffin. But minor details, right?

 

_This is Dean. He’s going to take care of us now. You’ll see, he’ll be like a father to you._ Sure. Because other dads also hit their wives. Or their children. Surely it was normal that a child’s body was marked by bruises and he couldn’t tell how many trips he had to make to the hospital because something was sprained, or broken or severely bruised. Because other dads locked their children in the cupboard when they were angry. Or threw them out on the street. Other dads also surely invited their friends and let them have a turn on their teenage stepson. Pretty normal things every other dad did, too.

 

_You can’t stay in the military I need you here._ Yes because getting beat up by your asshole stepfather is so much better than a carrier in the Marines. So much better. The marines might not have killed him but there were plenty of times where he thought Dean and his friend would manage his job. Yes. So heroic. Dying somewhere in the gutter of London’s streets. How pathetic and yet  so oddly fitting.

 

He was so used to people lying to him that he didn’t expect anything else anymore. At least until Harry came into his life. Or rather came back into his life. After all they already had a brief meeting. And Harry was full of promises. Oh so many of them. And like the idiot he was he believed all of them.

 

_I see a young man with potential._ Yes of course. The only potential he probably had was renting his ass out on the streets at least as long as he was young enough for people wanting to buy it.

 

_You can be an amazing agent for Kingsman._ Yeah that turned out so well, didn’t it? All the training, the pain, the suffering and yet he failed again. It was like a curse. Whatever he did, he just failed it. He wasn’t good enough for anything. Why didn’t he just shoot that stupid dog? Maybe everything would have turned out different. Who knew? But of course he has to be the biggest disappointment to everyone he cares about.

 

_I’ll sort that mess out when I come back._ Goddamned, fucking lie. The most horrible lie he’s been told in his short life. Of course Harry did not come back. Instead he had to watched him die. On a live feed thousands of miles away. Front row to an execution he couldn’t not stop. And the worst was that Harry went to his death thinking he was a huge let-down and that he made the wrong decision in choosing him. He could never forget that look on Harry’s face. The disappointment. His last memory of him. The last thing he saw. How highly unfair.

 

Everyone lied. He should know it better by now. But hope was a foolish thing. Taunting him. Making him wish for some truths. Maybe not everything was a lie? 

 

Was it a lie when Harry took him into his bed? Was it a lie when he fucked him so hard he saw stars and even forgot his own name? Were the sweet nothings he whispered into his ears a lie? He hoped not. It had to be true. Otherwise he would loose his mind completely.

 

_I love you Eggsy._ Soft words spoken into his hair when Harry thought he was asleep. Barely a whisper and probably not meant for his ears. At least not yet. He was sure that Harry would not tell him until he managed it to become a Kingsman agent. He probably didn’t want to confuse him and to deviate his attention from the tasks he still had to manage. But still, hearing those words filled him with such happiness he never expected to feel. This was everything he wanted. This was every thing he needed.

 

And yet he never heard those words out lout. Face to face. Nor did he get the chance to say them back. At least not in person. Screaming them into an empty house was definitely not the right way to do it. And what hurt him most was the realization that he would never get the chance to confess his feelings. All that has been left for him was the memory of those whispered words. A memory of a voice that would sooner or later be forgotten. Because that’s how things worked. Oh how he cursed himself for not saying those words back right then. Admitting he was still awake and having heard those wonderful words. How could he let Harry walk to his death without letting him know? And now it was too late.

 

Harry had promised him a kingdom of happiness. A monarchy of their own. Their life. Their rules. What he got instead was a wasteland. Empty and messed up. The bomb had been dropped. And he had to live with the fallout.

 

This was his life. A wasteland monarchy. A kingdom of pain and suffering. And oh what a fool he had been to believe it could change. It was a fairytale with no happy ending.

 

His half sister still believed in fairytales. If this was one, the door would open and Harry would come home. Alive and smiling, sweeping him up in his arms, kissing him and telling him how much he loved him.

But sadly his life wasn’t one.

 

 

 _Liar, liar, give the world to me._  
_A wasteland or a monarchy?_

**Author's Note:**

> Last week I watched Kingsman for the first time. And even though I fell into the Hartwin trash can with the first pictures I saw months ago my descending into Hartwin Hell was unstoppable after watching this movie. And of course I had to write angst, because I'm a horrible person. Sorry.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by the Kamelot song Liar, Liar (Wasteland Monarchy) (you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDLZ6Mqy7AM). (I recommend you give it a listen. It's my no. 1 Hartwin song)


End file.
